INBOX II

[illithidnapped]

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Comments

[propulsion]

Nuh uh. Let's be clear, Twilight—

I don't care if you guys play nice or don't. Use the c-word where young children can hear, not my problem. The problem here is you're operating on the incorrect premise that throwing in death threats is part and parcel with witty repartee, and that I should be cool with it because Poppell was mean to you.

I'm not, and you don't get to do that. You wanna discuss ethics, scientific hubris, weigh in on the diplomatic ramifications of whatever? Then keep your fangs out of it.

[illithidnapped]

[Death threats and cordial conversation being entirely separate entities is— in Astarion's own grievously skewed experience— possibly the most factually incorrect claim he's heard all night. And more than that, there's nothing about the idea of lowering his figurative snout to the floor in obedient acquiescence that appeals.

But he needs Riftwatch.

Not to mention Bastien and Byerly both had argued a similar case in their own way— something Astarion won't throw aside as easily as his own instincts insist.

...and, of course, beyond that, he can always find other ways to bite back, he supposes.]

Fine.

[So much like a sulking child told to apologize, the consonants stick.]

I'll keep my fangs to myself— talk included.

Happy?

[propulsion]

Ecstatic.

[ No acid in his tone, it's more of a handwave than a baring of teeth. ]

Good talk, let's not do it again sometime.

[illithidnapped]

[But wait, there's more!!]

No no— don't think for a second our chat is over.

This is your responsibility, as you said, and Wysteria sent me your way to field any complaints I might have.

And I do have them.

[propulsion]

[ The niggling knowledge that he can't just implement Dad Voice and then pretend he's going through a tunnel still does not stop him from a solid few seconds of pause, weighing his options, before responding with caffeinated cheer; ]

Hit me.

[illithidnapped]

[Oh, where to start.

No, really: gnawing on his own frustrations and still weathering the tangled rush of resentment, adrenaline and instinctive, bristling dread, he's more likely to blurt out something along the lines of I hate her and I wish the Fade would eat her alive, which— not really helpful, no.

So. From the top, maybe.]

Did you know what they were planning?

And if you did, which I'm assuming might just be the case, let me start by telling you: stop them.

Cutting her own arm off is one thing, but fiddling around with lyrium— [His consonants have gone sharp, stuck against the roof of his own mouth. Resetting comes with effort (and let's be real, it doesn't last for more than a single sentence).]

We're not exactly an airtight organization. What if people find out about what's being done? About how lyrium affects or— perhaps infects Rifters. What do you think they'll do if they start suspecting we're now not just soulless little inconveniences ready to fade away at will, but actual Fade-magic-borne mishaps. A bunch of lyrium mistakes trotting around wearing living faces, able to fiddle about with rifts as we please— I'm sure any amount of leverage we have to throw against the Chantry's arrangements to lock us all away will shrivel up faster than a troll's prick in winter.

And that's not to say what might happen to anyone volunteering for this.


When I arrived, it was almost half a year before I found out about Tevinter's plans for shard bearers. Everything they've been doing so far, everything they aim for.

How do you imagine it'll go the next time we get a new Rifter and they retroactively find out— what, someone's shard reacted poorly. Or grew out of control. Or died. Or— I don't know. That's the point.

No matter how clever Wysteria is or thinks she might be, she's never going to consider potential cost. Not in full.

You know she won't.

[propulsion]

Wrong,

[ immediate. ]

I know Wysteria Poppell, and judging by the way you talk to her, probably better than you ever will or could, my guy. I know she knows the cost, and I know she's not a coward about making space in the budget.

Here's what I think—you're afraid, but you're coming at it from the wrong direction. You're scared of the Venatori, the Chantry, the existential implications of our place in this shitty ass world, and you totally should be. We are not the enemy. Knowledge is not the enemy. There is nothing we can do or find out that will make things worse for us, but we can equip ourselves with the knowledge we need to fight for our place.

I don't not get it? But you're being awfully optimistic about what our fate looks like if we don't do this stuff.

[illithidnapped]

Oh, knowledge can be so much the enemy.

[Says a man that is— yes— exactly as fearful as Tony presently surmises.

More so, maybe.]

It isn't always a cure. It isn't always a solution. I've seen prodigies and scholars burn lifetimes in search of something they never find. Others who, with the purest intentions in their hearts, subsequently languish as the devil lurking at their back takes everything they've ever done and uses it like a poison rather than a poultice.

[Futility. Corypheus. Success.] It's a gamble.

It'll always be a gamble.

And regardless of it all, every scrounged-up granule of knowledge that comes is wine poured from a bottle into wet sand: once you've done it, there's no putting it back.

So yes, you're right. We don't have any guarantees as to how any of this'll turn out, whether or not Wysteria de Fonce and her exceptionally silent cohort go through with this. But there is absolutely a great deal that can be found to make things worse.

Don't doubt that for a damned second.

whoops time flies

[propulsion]

[ There's a Kermit-y expression into the middle distance at de Fonce, which he stopped using after he got appropriate the Fonz mileage out of it, but anyway— ]

If it's not us, it's someone else.

[ Short answer. The long; ]

The Venatori love our asses and we don't know why, apart from how we're very cool and attractive and have anchor-shards. But if there's something else we're not seeing, part of what we can do to mitigate whatever that portends is knowing. They're not gonna stop digging just because we get shy, over here.

And as for the Chantry, you guys in Diplomacy can figure out how to spin it, we'll keep an eye out for devils. Teamwork makes the dream work.